Antipathy
by Ellered
Summary: So he’s back, and after the fall of temin-ni-gru, he’s brought several levels of hell with him. Dante’s bewildered for once, and Lady’s instinct brings her connected with her father’s past. Dante/Lady end pairing.


Title: A**ntipathy**

Rating: **Pg-13,** for slight gore, slight language.

Characters: Lady, Dante, Vergil.

Summary: So he's back, and after the fall of temin-ni-gru, he's brought several levels of hell with him. Dante's bewildered for once, and Lady's instinct brings her face to face with her father's past.

Pairing: Eventual Dante/Lady.

(This is a finished story)

* * *

**I. Prelude: Dante:**

It looked pretty grim this evening. Dark, still clouds loomed up ahead, and for an already darker day when the sun has disappeared behind the tall buildings; it just made the air colder, and the smoke furled out from her mouth as she breathed. Dirty snow paved the way to the office, where her friend lived. She climbed up the steps; her red, new boots for the winter season stomped easily against the sticky substance adorning the short flight of stairs.

She took out her keys from her front jacket pocket, and opened the door, and what greeted her was a dark hollow room.

It was just light enough to make out his form, sitting there on that old couch, by the edge, his legs apart—his arm on the armrest, while his head leaned back as if exhausted. His other arm fanned out along the back of the couch, and his position was as lazy as his personality. Lady would have thought nothing of it, but the bottles of alcohol splayed around him drew her attention. This was unusual. He didn't normally drink this way.

Dante was always messy, but that shouldn't alert her either; yet the smell of something strange entered her senses—the smell of what it was like when she was facing a group of demons come out of hell.

"What's up?" she briskly walked in; shutting the door behind her allowing shadows to disappear. The darkness gloomed until her memory of where the light switch was brought light into the room. She approached the table in the kitchen, her backpack swung over her shoulder and unto the table; she unzipped it immediately to pull out a couple of bottles of tomato juices, "got something for ya."

She threw it at him and he caught it, his hand lowered and as she faced where he was at, his white hair shadowed his forehead, the drink now at his lips, emptying the contents in one gulp. He set it down easily, at the coffee table where his one boot sat on, and as he lowered that down, he leaned forward. Elbows on his knees, lowering his head down a bit until a rain of hair covered his face. She heard his groan.

"He's home."

"Huh?"

Lady raised her brows, kept her eye on the unmoving form on the couch, taking her jacket off to place it over to the coat rack. Walking over, she sat down next to him, her face forcefully blank, "Who's home?"

"Big brother decided to pop in," he snorted, "saying something about demons opening up the portal and that he was searching for one in particular. So he's staying for awhile."

"Oh Dante," she wet her dry lips; bit them in honest distress, "are you all right?"

"Just fine, babe, real fine." He scoffed, chuckling, looked over at her, "I'm just a little fucked up right now."

She didn't know why she did it, because she was hardly that way, and as long as they've been friends, it wasn't ever something she reached out to do. But something told her that she should. Just this once.

Her arms snaked around him, around broad shoulders, so that she was behind him. Her body lifted, moved over so as her embrace would fill up the emptiness he was feeling. Her arm pressed against his chest, allowing her face to be so close to his. He tentatively reached up, strong hands held over her delicate arms, and she felt instantly to his reaction. His back felt strong against her, and she hadn't realized how much bigger he really was, and how vulnerable he looked.

It was long moments later when they said anything.

"Thanks, Lady," he said gratefully.

She felt the sting in her eyes, "where is he?" her breath against his neck.

"Out. Said something about going to work out, demon hunting, wouldn't let me come along this time. I don't know what the crap he wants here. It's been_ years_."

She felt Dante lean against her, and Lady tightened her hold; they were locked like that for a long while.

"I'll talk to him," she said with conviction, "this is obviously upsetting you."

"No, I don't want you provoking him. He's dangerous."

"I'm a big girl, Dante. You know what I'm capable of. Would he go as far as to kill me?" She had to ask, because if Vergil came for a reason and those reasons were to be reunited in some kind of familial ground, then it may give her some allowance to actually discuss reason with him. She wanted to avoid death and going to hell in every way possible.

He shook his head, looking at her with strained eyes, "Vergil's capable of anything, but he's not chaotic. He doesn't just kill to kill. No," he shook his head again, "he can be a calculated killer, but---he isn't crazy. So no, he won't kill you."

Of all the demons she has fought and killed, generally leaving the larger more powerful for Dante, she never felt fear--- it was Vergil who caused the most anxiety in her.

Perhaps it was the dark twin's association with her father. _Perhaps_.

But it was enough.

* * *

**II: In Canto: Vergil**

It was winter. So cold that the ice froze mid way from the branches, forming icicles on the branches of the trees, and when the sun glimpsed between the white clouds, the light flashed brilliantly—almost too striking. Lady could have been impressed by the vision she saw before guiding her bike to the parking lot. It looked picture perfect, like a postcard. She was wearing her sunglasses, a knitted cap over her dark crop, and the bright scarf wrapped around her neck fell across her leather jacket as she swung over her bike seat, adjusting the vehicle to stand on the snow patched ground.

Boots, cherry red, the length thigh high—she wore them wrapped like a blanket, leather and thick. Even her shorts, though usually shorter, she wore closer to her knee so that they covered where the top of her boots ended. They were warm against her skin in this weather—pure wool and leather. Enough warmth and design to keep her ammo in place where the belt hangs snug over one slim hip. Even in the freezing atmosphere, where the moon's wink dazzled against the chrome of her bike, the rising smoke created a magical steam, leaving airy curls clinging around the hot engine. She adjusted her scarf to cover her neck, as if that would ward the heavy cold.

She pulled at her gloves, checked her gun, and watched for him but he wasn't here—not here where the baseball field was open and ripe for his practice. He wouldn't be playing, not Vergil. His style of playing had everything to do with swordplay and casualties. Death at the end of his blade, and nothing to do with human activities, but he left his presence here.

She heard the sounds. Where he fought—battled with his weapon. Not too far. She decided to walk the way to that strange sound—like the sound of crashing, trees toppling, and ice breaking. It was like entering another dimension as she stepped past the thick of the trees, and into an icy open clearing. Vergil was shirtless—his pale skin gleamed in the winter moonlight, and would have been eerily freaky if not for the way he moved—graceful and lithe, like a predatory cat.

The style of his hair remained the same, where it caressed the side of his head, like a silver wave.

In the forest amongst the white covered trees, and falling snow, his strident yamato stinging the circular grove within—dismembering trees and creating a wall of solid ice, but it wasn't that that held her breath.

This was where Vergil would be at; where she had to confront the devil that so much resembled her father in many ways. It was years; ten years since she has seen him.

Hell had always been a gate that was closed off from the human world and there were the very ambitious humans, so much like Arkham who tried to find ways to open that gate.

She thought she despised her father, but she was wrong…

A block of fog dissipated quickly, and smoke appeared from her mouth-- his lips where he breathed— cold left trails rising to the top of the empty pointed branches, leaving her mesmerized. She watched as demons rose up in unison from the ice formed ground, and each time one came—a silver blade sliced it in half. Only when Vergil allowed several to come out at the same was it even remotely challenging. She didn't know how long she held her breath, but as she exhaled, the visions stopped. The demons that had come out of that ground were evidently euphoric, in that usual sadistic way where they've finally managed to come out of their prison. It was, if they had a chance—to fight the son of Sparda---so that they could, by _some slight chance, gain freedom to roam the world. _

Vergil just wouldn't give them that possibility. She found herself rooting for him, however sadistic he was.

It was if the cool air had moved around him, pushed it away and he brought heat from his kingdom of hell.

The artificial warmth wavered around her, like a heater blown from a plugged fan. She folded her arms, watching him with wary eyes—curious, maybe—hoping to watch unannounced.

He stood there in the center of the forest, where the frozen pond extended out, creating a circular stage. The stripped winter branches shook off the clinging ice, so that they fell like sharp shards to the ground.

A spray of silver flashed, like lightning—white, hot, bursting. From the long thin blade it flew—hot metallic sparks, flaring out, and slicing through the thick air. She dismally pursed her lips: Vergil liked his battles epic, for sure.

Vergil didn't wear his hair long or untidy. Not like the other brother, but he should—maybe—just maybe it'd give him a little more of a tolerable, easy exterior. She hadn't even realized that she was grinding her teeth; and heaved a ragged sigh, and this reaction made her aware of how intimidating he was.

"You get a good enough look?" He said, startling her.

She straightened, pulled herself up, made herself walk over to him, still keeping a distance. There was something about him---too close to her own father that made her feel the rise of bile from her throat.

This was a devil that humans feared, known about through all the ancient religious texts, archaic and novel; through many Sunday preachers that warned us of the temptations, of the soul taking. He wasn't nearly anything like Dante.

"Enough." She retorted, shrugging, hoping to appear blasé about spying, wanting to say something more, yet the words caught in her throat as he turned—his icy glare stunning her at the spot. It was a stare full of pure hate. She thought, _no_--knew deep in her gut that he hated her more than she did him.

Stubborn as she was, Lady didn't really care, her voice challenged, "Why did you come back? Did you think that coming here would somehow make you closer to your brother? You left him…."

He barely sent her a glance, turning away, and she watched as he picked up his jacket. The same immaculate one he had when she saw him ten years before, "I see you haven't really changed. At least you've matured in appearance, Lady. I rather find it sufferable."

Flinching from his words, she bit her lip, as if that acknowledgement alone should stop her. She watched him walk away, knowing that he intended to ignore her, but she pursued, "Don't walk away from me, Vergil. I need answers. You coming here. What's your game? You don't want to come back and be a_ brother_ to Dante. I don't believe one minute of this crap you're placing on him. If you're here to hurt him, you'll have to answer to me."

She knew she said too much, but the words wouldn't stop. Lady cared too much for Dante to allow this: whatever Vergil's plans, it was up to nothing good for his brother. She couldn't trust him.

"Why does a little human want to know? Are you his champion?" He derided, "Your sentiments on my brother are lost on me. Dante has done fairly well without my company for years. If I had wanted to do _more _than_ hurt_ him, I would have done so long ago."

"But you have! I've been there for him since you left…" she wavered, "and you just show up one day, at his doorstep as if all those empty years meant _nothing_."

"What can I say?" he leaned forward to pull his yamato out of the ice, plucking it out enough so that the cold water bubbled out around the open crack, bubbling restlessly back down, "I hit my little brother right here."

He made an exaggerated gesture to his heart, his pale hand fisted, held there on his chest, chuckling, "why am I bothering to talk to you?"

Lady was mildly surprised how similar they actually were.

He shook his head, irritated, "go away, little human; you're not worth my time."

"You calling me human, it's just some kind of psychological shit you're placing on your warped mind, Vergil. To identify me as nothing less; I know your _love_ for humans."

He seemed to weigh her words, "I'll amuse you: Have I not called you Lady? Or…" His dark chuckle made her want to wipe his sneer, "shall I call you _Mary?"_

She swallowed, "don't call me that."

He raised his brow, "Oh but I can. If I wanted. Because that's the name your father gave you right? It's just a name, woman. _A name_. As the modern phrase goes: Get. Over. It."

"You should have stayed in hell."

"I would have. It affords me the luxury of slaughtering every creature that attempted to cross me."

Lady rolled her eyes, disgust and envy filled her emotions, "I'm sure you get new arrivals every day."

He shrugged, "but my brother…ah, my brother, he's perhaps, the _only one_."

"As your equal?" She added, "Or your _slayer_?"

His eyes had taken on a hard glint, "what would it take to shut you up?"

And she knew that he could kill her right there on the spot if he wanted, but ah…she knew that Dante would not approve. And dear god, she would put up a fight before this dark twin could take her down.

"Relax; I'm not going to kill you." He intoned, as if reading the horror on her face, even for a moment---before she hid it behind a careful façade.

"I've no intention of sullying my hands of such…" Vergil sneered, turning from her, looking over his shoulder, the soft lines of his lips sharpened, showing a flash of pearly whites, "….a demeaning task."

Vergil waved his hand indolently as he said this, resumed to walking away. His coattails whisking against the smoke furling around his feet; there was heat where he walked, and the ice on the ground cracked, yet held.

She gritted her teeth and wondered how much of hell he had brought along.

"If you so demand to be in my presence, then I'll tell you why I'm here: I need to challenge myself a little more, but there happens to be no one suitable to my taste." He raised his chin, a kind of arrogance planted there in the chill of his eyes, the way he leaned back—his almost relaxed state, and by those words alone it meant that he told her that she was too beneath him.

_He was lying,_ or, he was keeping more from her. Perhaps it was part truth. It was difficult to read a devil's face; his was the appearance of a human, except for that brilliant shock of silver and eyes. It was startling scary. Shit. She wanted something too, and it was feeling like the air from her lungs pushed out of her.

Lady wasn't as foolish as to take the bait, and ignoring his taunt and obvious insult of her humanity couldn't touch her.

But he wouldn't kill her….

"Fight me then."

The words were out before she could stop them. Death would be inevitable if he didn't hold back. _Was she insane?_ A woman who raced on her cherry coloured motorbike to the top of her daddy's tower, packing ammo and grenades enough to topple an entire floor of demons? Fell multiple stories down, only to be caught by his hormoned-crazed brother and shot him between the eyes? _Hell yes, she was._

He laughed; a rich dark laugh and it sounded harsh against her ears—mocking her tiny human soul, she recoiled, curling her fist, "you won't kill me, like you said—it's too demeaning for you."

She saw his body tense.

"I'm not here to provide an easy way out for you." There was an edge of impatience in his tone. He gritted his teeth, "you're a bothersome woman."

Like a moth approaching a flame, she brought herself closer, close enough so that she could see the way his light eyes changed--darkening. Emanating from him was hot and cold. It brought her hair up on end; electric and charged, static rose up around them. Immediately, her mind settled on her guns—where they hung by her belt—she mentally counted all the ammo she had. She could pull her twin pistols and they wouldn't even faze him; she could take the edge of her blade and cut him—but he'd heal. Heal so fast and she would be left bleeding like _---a human_.

Dante never made her feel like that. He always made her feel equal. Made her feel that, despite Dante's nonchalance and devil may care attitude, he _respected_ her.

This brother did not.

"I'm not asking. I'm _telling you_ to fight me. If I win, _you_ go back."

"Your destiny is forever to be a sacrifice for the gods, Lady," he lifted the edge of his mouth, leaned his head to one side—light eyes lowered as if bored, "don't say that I didn't try to warn you off. Obstinate woman."

He ended the last words harshly, bringing his face close to her, breath against her cheek his yamato still deeply sheathed. She felt anticipation ripple in the air around her, the blood inside her quickened; as if this was the way it was meant to be: _To die as a sacrifice, as it was originally intended. _To die gloriously in a fight between her and this devil_—_she would meet her father in hell.

But was soon reminded of why she was doing this: For Dante. Not for her.

It happened all too fast. He was swifter than time, and if he knew superheroes on television and comic books, he would scoff at their ridiculous inability to be truly powerful. She was already launching herself away and against him, to bring her mother's tool planting against the devil's son.

It was an immediate response, as if he had snapped his fingers like some kind of voodoo magic. But it wasn't magic that brought her to hell. It was his skill to translocate himself and his would be victim down, to the lower depths where no human has ever been.

_Devils. They roamed this world by the dozens. There was just no describing it. They flowed from below, above and kept coming. In the distance, there was a sharp soaring tower, where the blackest shadow turned a pillar into a stone moving demon, and demons came with ravenous faces—holding scythes and sharp blades. Their gruesome appearance lengthened, holding out, with fangs and red tongues snaking out. They mocked her as she swung with her weapon. The missile launcher on her back, flipped forward---and the sound of the lone click ripened in the chill of the expansive field. They danced around her like falling puppets from a ceiling with no sky, laughing like her jester father. And one by one she shot with her twin pistols, avoiding a long death blade that came at her---but there were so many, multiple arms and blades swooshing low and nipping too close to her boots, drawing blood. _

_She screamed. The pain came instantly, and she saw through her blurred vision the blood. Her blood ran down in dark rivulets, and she could hear the puppet master laugh from a distance, there—atop the roof of the center of what looked like a pavilion. _

"_Come to play a little, human? MMm…." Dark sunken eyes and pale faces loomed around her, and the laughing brought forth long equally pale hands—grabbing—wanting…... "hungry."_

_Lady pulled herself up, the blood leaving her---trailing—and she has brought the heat of the fight. This was what she wanted wasn't it? Her blood quickened. God yes, she wanted this. _

She was brought back, as humanly conscious as can be—hardly aware of the strength of his arms lifting her, his angular profile swam before her—white startling hair, polished against the moonlight—_no,_ the frozen white fires, and if she didn't know better, she would have thought the image was so beautiful. Like an angel, with great white feathery wings—luminous against the sun.

When she woke, the air smelt, felt natural; of how everything should be. She was home.

Well home, meaning earth. But the curtains and blinds reminded of a sterile environment—she was in some kind of infirmary. A machine showing a screen of her heart beat sat next to her, making her groan, reminders of her frailty.

He was standing there, against the frame of the door—blue against fair and grey. White shocking hair; everything was white, blurring until her eyes focused, cleared desperately to see if he actually existed. Standing with his hands in his pockets, a signature long coat should have looked ridiculous in the evening fluorescent light; but on him—he looked striking and utterly bored, as if the night conjured up such things.

"How long—…" she choked, not noticing that Dante was there, beside her, by her bed. She just kept staring past—to him. But his folded arms, relaxed stance, and bored look told her he wasn't going to give her any answers. She turned to Dante then, saw the familiar grin and the flash of relief on his face.

"..Bout time you got up, thought we had lost you for awhile." Dante smirked, showing white teeth; yet worried lines couldn't stop the concern written there, "You just couldn't wait until I got there to help out. Good thing my brother was there to pull you out," he was shaking his head, "Verge told me what happened."

She parted her mouth, lost in her words, and then she felt the blinding flash of pain.

Trying to get herself up, the sharp intense sting ripped through her, and Dante pushed her down gently, "Hey hey, you're supposed to remain in bed, lady. You took quite a beating."

So she followed his direction and there was an underlying current between him and his brother. There was time, perhaps for those to come to terms. She didn't know how long she was out, but that didn't matter. Dante stayed for awhile by her side, until he had to be called away, asking Vergil to watch her for a bit. It took some effort on the dark twin to comply, receiving a healthy pat on the back from Dante. It was bizarre for Lady to see both of them so_…brotherly_.

It was awkward as this twin stood there, reluctantly watching. She couldn't take it. If he wasn't going to say anything, she might as well start bombing him with questions.

"What was that? Some kind of sick joke?"

Vergil remained expressionless, "Would you rather I had actually fought you? Just be lucky I changed my mind in time for a rescue."

"I wouldn't have needed rescuing if it weren't for you." She spat out.

"I know what you wanted. It's not hard to see: a _challenge_," he casually shrugged, "not a suicide mission. Now, I'm staying as long as I like, and I'm not here to place any ill conceived notions of family ties with my brother. We had a talk."

"I'm surprised you're telling me this," her lips felt dry, but she couldn't move unless she wanted to feel miserable.

"For my brother's sake, I suppose." He took her hand, limp as it was, in his; it was as if he were measuring the rhythm her pulse, "Even this. Is for him."

There was, for the first time, true honesty in this demon's eyes, "I-I believe you."

"As I have said before," he whispered darkly, annoyed that somehow she had said something wrong again. Allowing his gaze to wander her face, her eyes, her mouth---his voice clipped, "you're not worth killing."

She wanted to feel fresh disappointment, but her ability to feel less than anything for the pain was numbing her, rooting her inability to think other than the usual extreme dislike.

"Now," he patted her hand, and she was instantly aware of the cool smoothness there, and the obvious lingering---as if he were taunting, "if you ever try to pull a stunt like that again, I may not hold back even for you, or care for what my miserable brother may think. He may have a slight weakness for humans, and especially for you---don't think," pausing, Vergil closed in and surprised her with another forced pat on her hand, "that I have any love for humans."

"I-I never thought…" she cursed inwardly for stuttering, shocked at the way his overwhelming presence brought her, and weak as she was at the moment, she could only glower ineffectively, "thought that you would have any love for anything in this world."

"I don't."

"No one's stopping you from going back to hell, Vergil."

He stared back unblinkingly, "In good time, Lady, in good time." He heaved a slight sigh, "such an amazing resemblance. You and your father. I'm wont to believe that you may actually stab my dear twin with deception one of these days. Do you have it in you?"

"I'm nothing like the man who sired me." She ground out, "and I'm never…no! Dante is good, he's opposite of what you are, as I am opposite of what my father was…"

"And too much of your mother?" He tsked aloud, "That's too bad, because she's a little weak human, like you."

She turned away, too disgusted, "get out."

He was silent, and she felt him draw back, and moments later, heard his departing footsteps—the door opening and closing, shutting her out.

Hot tears trickled down her cheek. Perhaps being a woman, a _human_ allowed her this kind of _weakness_.

She thought that she despised her father, but she was wrong…

Where Dante brought kindness and compassion for humans, Vergil's presence brought hate; it was more than she had felt when her father deceived her the second time; it was a feeling of unequivocal loathing.

-

* * *

**Part III: Epilogue: Lady**

It was dark inside Dante's establishment. Again. She groaned audibly, her gloved hand scaled the side wall trying to find the switch, noting the non presence on the couch. When the lights turned on, Dante was standing there by the door to the kitchen. She gasped, nearly reaching for her pistol, "Shit!"

Sending him a sharp glare, she snapped, "Is this your idea of fun? Skulking about in the shadows—I could have shot you between the eyes---now how would that have felt huh?"

He turned away quickly, frustration on his brow.

"Enjoyed yourself?" It was a harsh remark, almost hoarse.

"What?" She said dumbfounded, not truly understanding, then it dawned on her. _He thought?_

"Oh. You mean. Your brother and I…..that we?" She pointed to herself as if to confirm something that wasn't true, or would have been if not for---.

He closed his eyes, rubbing them with the back of his hand, "Just spit it out, what the fuck---?"

Lady flinched, breathed out in frustration, "Yes. I was with him."

"And you didn't even invite me." He was genuinely angry.

"I was supposed to be there with him to open the gate. It was necessary tonight." She moved into the kitchen, opened the fridge to search for something to drink, her agitated expression turned away.

He stiffened, annoyed, "I hate those damned rituals. Smells funny with all that incense burning, and voodoo chanting bull."

"I made sure there wasn't any. Even the demon world has somehow brought a sense of contemporary art."

"Why'd he expose you to that shit anyway?" Annoyance still plastered between his brows, "Vergil can't protect you if he got ambushed by a horde of high level demons, you'd be easy prey."

"Nothing to fret. Everything went well." She found her drink and closed the fridge door, leaning her back against it; Lady brought the bottle of tomato juice to her lips. It wasn't what she was thirsty for, but it would do. She peered over the bottle at him, "..'sides, I'm the one with the _right_ blood, remember?"

"How could I forget," he snorted, his white disheveled hair hung messily around him, and she noted that he was shirtless---like his brother was the first time she saw him months ago. But where Vergil was pale, muscular, looking_ ethereal_—Dante's well-built form was tanned and_ human. _

It starkly reminded her that Dante was of this world, not the other—and for that she felt a sense of relief.

He must have heard her openly sigh; he nervously shifted his feet, bringing one hand to rake over his pale hair, "care to share?"

"I was just thinking." She shrugged, "nothing."

"Eh?" He smirked, "I'm glad you and my brother got along in the last few months—I thought for awhile there that you two wouldn't talk after that incident."

Dante was talking about that day: when she had ended up in the hospital bed, with needles and tubes poked in her skin. Reminding her again of how frail—how human she was.

"I hate it when you're so goddamn smug," she flustered, "I was able to tolerate his presence, that's all."

"Still. I'm glad is all." He awkwardly remarked, taking the bottle of half empty tomato juice from her hand, "that's my last one, by the way."

"I'll get you another one, a whole case."

"You're very charitable lately, not bugging me about my failure to pay you back, in fact not in months---what's with the generous mood? _I like it_."

"Just thinking of how," she placed a hand over his naked chest, not understanding why the sound of her pulse beat stridently in her ears, placing palm up—heat against his, "- much you mean to me as a friend."

Her eyes locked with his—the air felt weighty, pregnant with something unwritten.

"How much?" Dante narrowed light blue eyes, grin widening, "Just _how far_ are _you_ willing to be generous today?" he brought his hand up to cup hers, and she pulled back immediately.

Her mouth pursed, heard the rumble of laughter from his chest, and she ground her teeth, "You're freakin' impossible!"

Lady ran out of the kitchen, hurriedly rushing to the room she occupied, to get away. She brought her hand up over her forehead, pushing her long dark bangs aside as if flustered. She could still hear his laughter even as her back leaned heavily against the closed door.

Vergil was gone. Dante was as always, the same.

She shook her head, smiling contentedly.

**---the end.**

End Notes: _I would have written more, feeling that the part I wrote Vergil should have had more action and description to give more of an understanding to his role. But seriously, it was way too long already_.


End file.
